The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga)

by Karen Azinger

  “The crown can never be removed.”

  “Never.” His stare raked across her, lingering.

  Her resolve weakened. She gave him an order, a test. “You cannot stay past first light.”

  He nodded. “As you command.” His smile softened. “As you wish.” He made the words a kiss…but still he waited, as if held captive by respect for her crown…or perhaps respect for her.

  His respect melted her resolve. She reached out to him, unable to speak the words.

  He crossed the room in three determined strides. He knelt and kissed her ring. “Always the queen.” He turned her hand and kissed the hollow of her palm, a long slow kiss. “But also the woman.”

  She shivered with longing, her voice a throaty whisper. “One night for Robert and Liandra.”

  He made her name a prayer. “Liandra.”

  She shivered to hear it, to be just the woman.

  He rose and cupped her face, a burning intensity to his touch. His thumbs traced her eyebrows, her nose, her lips, as if his hands memorized her face. He bent down, a soft kiss that became hard…a moment that stretched to infinity. She leaned against him, soaking up his strength…but he stepped away. She stared up at him, confused.

  His hands hovered at the silken straps of her gown. He stared deep into her eyes, silently asking. She nodded, blushing with understanding. He eased the silken straps off her shoulders, a fall of silk, leaving her dressed in nothing but golden candlelight. He gasped, “My queen!”

  She loosened his dark robe, leaving the black wool a puddle at his feet. The scars surprised her, too many to count, but otherwise he was lean and muscled, strong and hard despite his iron-gray hair.

  He swept her into his arms and carried her to the four-posted bed, the massive gold-encrusted bed where she’d spent so many nights alone…but not this night. They started gentle and tender, discovering, exploring…but then the passion long denied came in waves. They rode the ecstasy together…and then the need gave way to pure pleasure. Deft and sure, he knew just how to please. The candles melted to darkness and still they touched and talked. She fell asleep in his arms, sated and safe, cocooned from every care, a bliss of dreams.

  She slept late, sunshine pouring through the casement window, a deep smile on her face. Content and happy, she reached for him but found him gone, and then she remembered her command. He’d kept his word, leaving at first light. The bed seemed a lonely place. The emptiness crushed her. Liandra regretted the command…but it proved he understood, that he knew she must always wear the crown. Memories of the night brought a rush of heat, a thrum of longing. Perhaps she’d found the rock she needed…a man to stand with her against the coming dark. Liandra wondered if she could be both the queen and the woman.

  61

  Justin

  Bribery, blackmail, and begging, Justin tried them all. He plied the off-duty prison guards with liquor and tempted them with purses of gold. Befriending the soldiers of the fortress, he tried gaining access to the dungeons. He even dared to corrupt a confessor, offering the rum-soaked priest a wealth of golds if he would free the old lady, but fear of the Flames prevailed.

  He found plenty of takers for his golds, winning small favors, gaining Grandmother Magda the comfort of a blanket and extra rations of soup. One guard agreed to smuggle an apple into the dungeon and another carried a small scrap of parchment scribbled with a few words of hope. His greatest victory was getting her name removed from the list slated for torture. The golds of Lanverness saved her from that horror, but despite all his efforts, the silver-haired grandmother languished in the deep cells, waiting her turn to walk the Flames.

  The last of his golds went to the daily bribes, keeping her name from the top of the death list. Every morning he made the trip to the fortress, counting each day delayed as a victory, a race against time and his dwindling golds.

  The Fortress of the Flame stood on the north side of the city, a brooding jumble of dark gray towers squatting like a malignant beast, waiting to swallow innocent victims. A monument to pain, the commoner’s named it Hell’s Parlor, a grim taste of hell on earth. Justin stared up at the dark walls, knowing the great stone beast rarely gave up its prey…but he had to try.

  Walking with a limp, he kept his spine bent, a wad of wool beneath a dirty brown cape giving him the appearance of a deformed hunchback. The deformity drew stares away from his face, making him seem a harmless cripple, a welcome form of invisibility. Limping to the gate, he slipped the guard a silver. A familiar petitioner, the hunchback gained entrance to the fortress. Passing beneath the iron teeth of the portcullis, he entered the belly of the beast.

  Justin kept to his disguise, limping across the cobblestone yard to the line of citizens waiting to purchase mercy for their loved ones. Bribery had become a thriving industry for the guards. He stood eighth in line, watching as the sun climbed above the walls, trying to ignore the nightmare of screams and muffled moans that filtered up from the dungeon.

  Grim-faced soldiers patrolled the battlements and priests came and went through the dungeon door, intent on their grisly tasks. The line of petitioners stayed meek and silent, mice trying to hide from a fortress of hungry cats. Justin tried counting the number of red tabards but he lost track. The army had marched south but they’d left far too many soldiers behind, bribery seemed the old woman’s best hope.

  The pock-faced sergeant appeared at the dungeon doorway and pointed at Justin, a silent summons.

  The others stared as he limped past, but there was no protest; the mice didn’t dare complain. He followed the sergeant through the grim doorway to a small, spare room with bleak stone walls. Chilly like a root cellar, the room was empty except for a table cluttered with parchments and a single chair. A pair of iron manacles hung on the wall, a reminder that the small cell had other uses.

  Justin stood in front of the table, keeping his back bent and his head bowed. Huddled beneath his brown cape, he was just another petitioner begging a favor.

  Sergeant Jexel closed the door and sprawled in the chair. “Yer a stubborn one, hunchback, but yer golds are good.” He tapped a scroll against his palm, a crooked smile on his pockmarked face. “Kept her name off the death list for another day.”

  Justin completed the ritual, pushing a small purse of coins across the table.

  The sergeant spilled the coins into his hand, counting to be sure. “The old lady must really mean somethin’ to ya to keep payin’.” Satisfied, he tumbled the coins back into the purse. “Pity I won’t be helpin’ you after today.” The purse disappeared into the sergeant’s belt, a broad grin on his face.

  A cold hand gripped Justin’s heart. “What’d ya mean?”

  “Can’t risk jiggin’ the death list anymore.”

  “But what if I pay more? Double the price?”

  The sergeant shook his head. “Wish I could. But Clavin, a senior priest, has taken over. They’ll be no more jiggin of the names.”

  “Can’t Claven be…reasoned with?”

  The sergeant scowled. “Claven’s one of those holy types. Prances around like he’s got a hot poker up his ass.” He shook his head. “Not enough golds in all of Coronth to risk approachin’ a priest like that.”

  Justin’s thoughts raced like a cornered mouse, frantic to save her. “But what if I pay ya to smuggle in a sleepin drought and claim the old woman died in the night? I’d pay ya a heavy purse of golds when I collect the body. A lot of golds for one frail old woman.”

  “Won’t work.” The sergeant shook his head. “No one in the dungeon escapes the Flames. There’s never any bodies, never any graves. The dead are burnt, the priests see to it. Sinners all burn one way or another, only difference is, the live ones scream before they die.”

  Justin stood stunned, crushed by the raw cruelty of the Flame.

  “Give it up, hunchback, there ain’t nothing ya can do.” The sergeant gave him a twisted smile full of bad teeth. “Now run along.” His grin deepened to an ugly sneer. “There’s others
waitin’ for their chance to pay.”

  Justin turned and shuffled toward the door, pole-axed by the turn of events.

  “By the way, hunchback. Since ya been good with the golds I’ll give ya this one for free.”

  He turned to meet the sergeant’s pitiless stare.

  “The old lady’s due to walk the Flames in three days.”

  A cold fist gripped Justin’s heart. He had to find a way to save her…but it would take a miracle to get the old woman out of the dungeons. Justin limped from the fortress, his mind frantic with worry. He needed a miracle…and he had less than three days to find one.

  62

  Katherine

  Halfway through the stone wall, Kath realized Duncan might be naked. The thought stole her concentration…and the stone began to claim her. Granite surrounded her with an immortal embrace. Panic seized her. Kath fought to control her magic, desperate to remain flesh, desperate to breathe. A roaring sound, like the beating of a thousand wings, surrounded her and then she was through. Kath staggered into the small cell, hungry for air, her heart pounding.

  Bare arms and a warm chest caught her, pressing her against the wall, a knife held to her throat.

  “Kath?” Duncan sheathed the knife but stayed close, keeping her pinned to the wall.

  A quick glance proved he was only half naked. Muscles rippled across his chest, a line of dark hair disappearing beneath his belt. A blush heated her face.

  “That’s quite an entrance.”

  “There wasn’t any way to knock.” She tried to steady her breathing, tried to keep her gaze on his face…but it was hard to concentrate. “Check your bed.”

  “My bed?” His voice held an odd quality, a hungry smile spreading across his sun-tanned face.

  Her blush deepened. “I found dried blood on mine…and a cut from a sword thrust.”

  “Murder!”

  She nodded. “The reason for all the lies. Danya had the truth of it. They murdered my brother in the depths of the night and threw his body off the mountainside. That’s why the eagles circle above…for the loyal dead.”

  Duncan sobered. “I’m sorry, Kath.”

  A cold fist gripped her heart. She couldn’t think about her brother. “If they murdered once they’ll murder again.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I expect so.” The musk of his bare skin was distracting.

  His face turned grim. “I counted twenty-two knights in the great hall…and there must be others standing guard…too many swords against us. Any chance some are still loyal to the Octagon?”

  “Trask wouldn’t let them live.” She considered the odds, twenty-two swords trained by the Octagon…and then there was Trask, a knight with the strength of a Taal. She shuddered. “We’ll have to sneak out and fight only if we have to.”

  He cursed and took a step back, releasing her. “My bows are with my saddle. And an archer’s not much good for close fighting.”

  She stared at him, regretting the distance. “But you can see in the dark.”

  “True.” He ripped off the leather patch, revealing his golden eye. “But how does that help?”

  She met his mismatched gaze. “I don’t know, but we’ll need every advantage.”

  He stared at her, a thread of tension running between them. Duncan closed the distance and leaned toward her, staring down, his gaze intense. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her…but instead he pressed his lips to her ear, his voice a husky whisper. “When we’ve won.” And then he did kiss her, long and deep. His arms encircled her, pulling her to his bare chest. Kath answered his kiss, feeling his heat, feeling his heartbeat, breathless for more.

  Without warning, he stepped away. His gaze smoldered. “Too tempting.” He took a deep breath, a promise in his gaze. “When we’ve won.”

  She leaned against the wall, hungry for his touch, but instead she just nodded. “Till then.”

  He turned away, pulling on a black shirt, leather sliding over a ripple of muscles. “We need a plan.”

  Kath took a deep breath, trying to keep her thoughts focused. “We sneak down to the stable, saddle the horses, and ride through the tunneled passage into the north.”

  “They’ll have a guard posted in the hallway, maybe more if murder is their plan.”

  She reached for one of her throwing axes. “I’ll take care of the guard, you get the others. Rouse Sir Tyrone first, his sword will be needed.”

  “They’ll be knights guarding the tunneled pass-through.”

  “I have an idea that might give us an advantage.” She moved toward the door.

  He gripped her arm, lightning in his touch. “Stay safe.”

  She gave him a quick kiss. “And you.”

  They opened the door and peered out, grateful the hinges were silent. Torchlight danced along the curved walls, proving the hall was empty, quiet as a tomb. Kath nodded to Duncan and crept down the hallway, hugging the inside curve. Nearing the staircase, she paused to listen. The quiet told her there was only one guard. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her courage, telling herself that the knights were all false. Still, it was hard to fight against the Octagon…if she was wrong, it would be treason. Kath weighed the axe in her hand and then returned it to the shoulder harness. Needing to be sure, she stepped around the curve.

  A knight slouched near the stairs, one hand resting on his sword hilt. Recognizing the droopy blonde mustache and the crooked nose, she decided to risk a question. “Sir Carfax, why?”

  He gave her a squinty stare, his face wary. “Why what?”

  She studied him, looking for telltale signs, her voice a whisper. “Why murder my brother?”

  His eyes widened, his grip tightening on his sword hilt.

  Cold certainty rushed through her. She reached for an axe. The blade whirled, a tumble of death.

  The axe struck deep, embedding in his face with a wet thunk. He grunted and slumped to the floor.

  Kath retrieved her axe from the bloody mess. She’d killed a knight. She stared down at him, an ugly wound, an ugly way to die, but he’d killed her brother, a traitor to the maroon.

  Duncan joined her, a dark shadow slipping down the hallway. “The others are coming.” He nudged the body with his foot. “I’ll hide him in your cell.”

  Kath nodded. “Get the others to the stable. I’ll clear the way.”

  Steeling her resolve, she slipped down the stairs. Her doeskin boots whispered around the tight spiral, her heart hammering.

  Footsteps came from below…one man. The knight climbed into sight. Sir Penross sneered at her, “What…”

  She loosed her axe, a whirl of steel.

  The blade took him in the throat. Blood sprayed across the stairwell. Kath lunged for the body, lowering it to the stairs. Bile threatened to choke her. She fought to keep her supper down. Tugging her axe free, she wiped it on his surcoat. Blood spattered the walls, too much blood, too much death.

  Her companions joined her, footsteps on the stairs. Duncan shook his head. “No way to hide this one.”

  Kath grimaced. “Time is against us. We need to hurry.” She led them down the last spiral and into the long corridor, pausing at the outer door. Turning to Danya, she whispered, “Can you reach the wolf? Can you tell me how many guards are out there?”

  Danya nodded. “Bryx is easy to reach.” Her eyes glazed, as if in a trance…and then she was back, her brown gaze clear. “There’s only one. Bryx says he stands by the dark cave-mouth.”

  “He must mean the tunneled passageway.” She looked to the others. “I’ll take care of the guard. The rest of you run for the stable and saddle the horses.”

  Sir Tyrone said, “I’ll take the guard.”

  “No.” Her voice brooked no argument. “My throwing axe is quicker, quieter. Anything else and the guard will ring the alarm bell.”

  The black knight nodded, his face grim.

  Kath turned to Danya. “Can Bryx watch the tower while we saddle the horses? To give warning if the other knigh
ts come?”

  Danya nodded; her face pale. “Bryx can do that.”

  “Good.” Kath hefted her axe, an assassin’s weapon. “I’ll go first.” Remembering her lessons with the Empty Knight, she stepped out into the frozen moonlight.

  A lone knight stood huddled beneath his maroon cloak, guarding the tunneled passageway. The rope-pull of the warning bell dangled beside him, the greater threat.

  This time she did not hesitate. Stepping toward the knight, she hurled the axe, a bright blade whirling in the night.

  The knight lurched sideways.

  The axe clanged against stone, a clean miss.

  Kath stared, frozen in shock.

  The knight lowered his spear and charged.

  Kath stood her ground, reaching for the second axe. She hurled the second, but he deflected it with his spear. Stunned, she reached for her sword.

  Something blurred at the edge of her vision. The wolf hurtled toward the knight, leaping for his throat. Man and beast fell to the cobbles. With a savage growl, the wolf tore the knight’s throat.

  “Bryx to me.”

  The wolf grinned at Kath. Shaking the blood from his fur, he trotted toward Danya.

  Kath approached the body. His throat gaped open, torn and bloody. Luck or stupidity had kept him from ringing the alarm and now he was dead. Kath thought of her brother, food for eagles, and wished she’d killed him. She went in search of her axes. Pale moonlight showed a glimmer of steel at the base of the tower. Retrieving her axes, she raced for the stable.

  The companions worked by lantern light, buckling saddles, tightening girths, and checking bridles. The horses whinnied in protest, milling in their stalls. Kath found the roan stallion and flung the saddle across his back, her fingers clumsy with the buckles. She elbowed the stallion, pulling the girth tight and led the horse out of the stall.

  Zith struggled with the packhorse.

  Duncan strung his short bow.

  Out in the courtyard, the wolf howled.

  Danya yelled, “They’re coming.”